


Green Dragon Rising

by Psappho (AthenaAstrea)



Series: Green Dragon [1]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 10:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11804217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaAstrea/pseuds/Psappho
Summary: Always trust your dragon.That was what Weyrleader S’ven had been taught, and it was a fine philosophy as far as it went. But why, exactly, had his bronze chosen to chase a random green dragon from another weyr? And how was S’ven supposed to reassure the green’s incredibly young rider, especially when the boy had so clearly been traumatized by his dragon’s previous mating flights?





	Green Dragon Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fanfiction. All rights to _The Dragonriders of Pern _belong to Anne McCaffrey.__

Green mating flights were so frequent that S’ven barely noticed them anymore, except to thank shards that they didn’t engulf the entire weyr in dragonlust like queen flights. With several greens rising every week, the weyr might very well fall apart if its entire population dropped everything to find the nearest willing partner every time a green took to the skies. 

S’ven hadn’t thought about things like that before becoming a weyrleader six turns ago when his bronze Math unexpectedly and inexplicably flew Igen’s senior queen, Laurenth. At the time, he had been horrified, unable to understand why the dragons would suddenly decide to upset over a decade of stable leadership, not to mention breaking up the seemingly stable and loving partnership between Weyrleader M’hew and Weyrwoman Lidia. Thankfully, Lidia was a wise and compassionate soul with twenty years of experience as a weyrwoman to guide her, and she had taken her terrified new weyrleader in hand and explained to him why M’hew was not the right man to carry the weyr through the end of this Pass.

“He’s tired, S’ven,” Lidia said gently, sitting across the table from a shocked and staring S’ven two days after the mating flight. “He’s been fighting thread for thirty years and he just wants this Pass to be over. But we have five long turns of thread still ahead of us, and the weyr needs a weyrleader who will approach those last five turns as though they were the first.”

S’ven had taken Lidia’s words to heart and had done his best to keep Igen’s dragons strong and its riders sharp. He was grateful every day for Lidia’s steady support and wisdom, as well as for the fact that M’hew, far from resenting the younger man who had usurped his place, was an unwavering source of advice and encouragement. 

Of course, it helped that S’ven had made clear from the beginning that, while he might replace M’hew’s as weyrleader, he had no intention of replacing him as Lidia’s weyrmate. He liked and respected Lidia greatly, and found her incredibly attractive despite the fifteen-year difference in their ages, but he knew that he could no more replace M’hew in her heart than another dragon could replace Math in his. So M’hew had remained in Lidia’s bed, save for during Laurenth’s mating flights, while S’ven concentrated the daunting task of leading Igen through the end of the Pass with as few casualties as possible. 

And now the Pass was over, and Pern was facing two hundred years of freedom from Pern’s ancient enemy. Today’s council at Fort Weyr was the latest in a series of meetings aimed at transitioning Pern into the Interval. Records showed that the first few turns after a pass were a delicate time, when the relief of having clear skies for the first time in most people’s lives could lead to foolish actions, and important traditions, traditions that must endure through two centuries before they would be needed again, could easily fall by the wayside. 

_ Lord of the Hold, your charge is sure.  _

_ In thick walls, metal doors, and no verdure. _

It would be so easy to become complacent during the Interval, to expand the holds beyond the safety of the walls, to plant trees and bushes in cot and court, to replace metal, stone, and slate with wood and straw. And then, when the Red Star returned, Pern would find itself open and vulnerable to the airborn menace. There were, after all, only so many dragons and only so many settlements they could protect, and even the best fighting wing could not catch every piece of thread that fell from the sky. 

S’ven found himself mostly silent during these meetings, leaving his weyrwoman to do the talking. The truth was, he felt as though his purpose had been accomplished. The Pass was over. A new challenge faced the weyrs, one S’ven wasn’t certain he was suited for. He was a good leader and an excellent fighter, but he was no diplomat, and right now Pern needed diplomats. He and Lidia had not spoken of it, but S’ven was doubtful whether Math would fly Laurenth next time she rose. However, with the Red Star receding and the queens rising less often (and producing fewer eggs), it might be another turn before the weyrleadership passed to someone more suitable. In the meantime, S’ven would support his weyrwoman and help his riders cope with the transition as best he might.

It was easy for riders accustomed to fighting to get bored and depressed with no thread to fly against. In fact, today’s discussion had been largely concerned with how to allow riders to help rebuild the holds that had been hardest hit during the Pass. It would be good to give them something useful to do, but it would not do the set a precedent of dragons being beasts of burden. Apart from anything else, such an affront to dragonkind would probably cause the Connell to come back from the dead to punish the malefactors personally.

Now the meeting was over for the day and the weyrwomen and weyrleaders, along with the mastercraftsmen and the Lord and Lady Holders, were relaxing on the open terrace outside the council chamber. They were sipping wine and chatted amiably when a disturbance over the feeding grounds caused the conversation to pause. All eyes turned and S’ven saw a gorgeous little green swooping down on a herdbeast. Her vivid color, as well as the flight of suitors waiting on the heights, told him plainly what was happening even before she fastened her dainty jaws on the doe’s throat rather than tearing into it's belly. 

S’ven had already looked away from the green and her entourage, more interested in watching the Lord and Lady Holder’s reaction to the impending flight than in the flight itself, when Lidia laid a hand on his arm.

“S’ven, isn’t that Math?” she asked, her voice low.

S’ven frowned and studied the waiting males more closely. There were indeed a handful of bronzes mixed in with the browns and blues, and sure enough, his eye picked out a familiar shape among them.

His jaw dropped in blank astonishment.

< _ Math? _ > he asked weakly.

< _ Yes, bronze rider? _ > Math replied, and suddenly S’ven was overwhelmed by a wave of mingled excitement and lust that had him gripping the arms of his chair.

< _ Math, what are you doing? _ > he demanded, closing his eyes and willing his body not to react to his dragon’s arousal. 

< _ Kith rises _ ,> Math replied, as though the answer was self-evident. 

< _ What about Laurenth?> _ S’ven asked, scandalized that Math would forsake his queen, even though Math and Laurenth’s riders were by no means faithful to one another.

< _ Laurenth does not need us, S’ven _ ,> Math said. < _ Kith does. _ >

“Lidia, Sven!” 

S’ven turned sluggishly to see Fort’s weyrwoman, Meia, making her way towards them.

“Are you alright?” Meia asked, reaching them and leaning down to speak softly in their ears.

“Math intends to rise for the green,” Lidia told her counterpart, still watching S’ven with concern.

Meia gasped and S’ven looked at his weyrwoman, guilt in his eyes.

“Lidia, I am so sorry,” he said. “I do not understand what Math is thinking. I…”

“Hush, S’ven,” Lidia said, taking his hand. “Remember the first rule of being a rider: always trust your dragon.”

“But… Laurenth,” S’ven said helplessly, closing his eyes against yet another wave of dragonlust.

“Listen to me, S’ven,” Lidia said, reaching out and putting one hand on S’ven’s cheek, turning his head so that she could look directly in his eyes. “Math and Laurenth did what was right for Igen, and you have been incredibly gracious in allowing M’hew and me to remain weyrmates in spite of it. Surely you cannot not think either Laurenth or I are so hypocritical as to demand Math’s fidelity when I have not given you mine?”

The green dropped the herdbeast and lifted her head, gazing defiantly at her suitors. She gave a high, ululating cry, then leaped into the air and, before the males could even get their wings spread, she was out of sight. As one, they roared and rose after her in a confusion of blue, brown, and bronze. 

S’ven was drawn inexorably into the air with Math, unable to resist the pull of the mating flight. He was distantly aware of Meia and Lidia murmuring urgently beside him, but most of his concentration was on the air beneath Math’s wings and the stunning little green flitting ahead of him.

“S’mon is getting Chadrath,” Meia said to Lidia. “It wouldn’t do to have Laurenth or Siroth in Kith’s weyr at a time like this.”

“I am so sorry, Meia,” Lidia was saying. “I know how awkward it is having a dragon from another weyr rising to one of your greens, but a weyrleader’s bronze…”

“Oh, Lidia,” Meia said. “You know as well as I that the dragons do as the dragons will.”

At that point, S’mon, Fort’s Weyrleader, landed on the lip of the terrace with his bronze, Chadrath.

“Come on, lad,” he said, slipping down off of his dragon and hauling S’ven to his feet. “Let’s get you where you need to be.”

S’ven followed the other weyrleader obediently, his mind still with Math. Kith was toying with her suitors, but there was little of the usual green coquetry about her quick dives and clever dodges. She seemed intent, not on flirting with her prospective mates, but on making fools of them, causing them to look ridiculous as they missed their mark, or lost altitude, or fouled each other’s wings. It was as though they had offended her in some way and she was now teaching them a lesson. Indeed, when one big brown got close enough that it looked like he might catch her, she screeched angrily and, to S’ven’s shock, raked his wing with her claws rather than let him mate her.

S’mon hauled S’ven up onto Chadrath’s neck and then they were soaring across the weyr to a high ledge where several other dragons were also disposing dazed passengers. 

“S’ven, you with me?” S’mon asked as they neared the ledge.

S’ven roused himself enough to nod jerkily.

“If Math flies Kith, be good to her rider, you hear?” the other weyrleader said, gripping S’ven’s shoulder from his position behind the dazed rider. “J’son is sharding young, and craftbred to boot, and my riders haven’t been as gentle with him as they might have been.”

In some distant recess of his mind, S’ven winced. Being craftbred himself, S’ven knew what how much of an adjustment weyr life, and particularly weyr sexuality, required, and he hadn’t had to deal with the ramifications of Impressing a green.  Unlike blues, browns, and bronzes, who rose only if they chose, greens were trapped by their biology, rising anywhere from four to eight times per turn unless they were injured. And, whatever their preference at other times, their riders always took the receiving role during a flight just as their greens did, which put them at the mercy of dragon-roused riders who were not always careful in the throes of passion. S’ven had seen enough green riders the morning after a rough flight to know that theirs was not always an easy lot.

The ledge cleared and Chadrath swooped in, depositing S’ven among the other prospective riders. Before S’mon winged away, S’ven managed to focus enough to make eye contact with the weyrleader and nod, showing him as best he could that he had heard him and that his rider would be in safe hands.

Then he was back with Math and Kith was flying above him, just out of reach. 

Math was biding his time. Unlike in a queen flight, the bronze had the advantage in endurance, although that edge was offset by the green’s maneuverability. She would slip through his claws if he tried to force the issue, but he could afford to wait until she chose to be caught.

And it seemed clear that when she did so choose, it would be Math who did the catching. She was keeping the bronze’s massive body between her and the other males, using him as a barrier even as she taunted them. The other dragons were becoming increasingly frustrated and were trying to get around Math, but even the agile blues were having no success. At one point, Math gave a particularly obnoxious young specimen a buffet with one huge wing that had the youngsters eyes spinning. The blue lost control of his wings and tumbled several hundred feet before he managed to get himself to rights and was unable to catch up again.

When Kith began to tire, S’ven found the presence of mind to take stock of the situation on the ground, realizing that the flight was about to come to its inevitable conclusion. He was standing with a dozen or so other riders in a small but comfortable weyr. The riders were crowded in a tight semicircle around the bed, where a slender, curly-headed lad who S’ven presumed to be Kith’s rider was sitting with his knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around them, trembling like a leaf.

S’ven felt his stomach lurch. The boy was heartbreakingly young, and it was plain that he was terrified. Suddenly, what was happening in the sky made a whole lot more sense. If the men gathered round the bed were frightening Kith’s rider this much, it was no wonder Kith was intent on punishing their dragons, and that Math was shielding her from them while she did so. In fact, S’ven found that he had unconsciously mirrored his dragon’s actions, placing his own body between the boy and the other riders.

In the air, Kith was showing increasing signs of fatigue and was flying closer and closer to Math. On the ground, her rider had begun to cry, whispering brokenly to himself, “Oh shards, not a bronze, please,  _ please  _ not a bronze.”

Swallowing hard, S’ven ignored the other riders and sat down beside the boy, pushing back his dragon-fueled lust so that he could put a gentle arm around him and draw him into his chest.

“Shhh,” he said. “Easy, lad. It’s alright. I know Math is big, but he’ll be careful with Kith. And I will be careful with her rider. Don’t fret, love, you and your dragon are safe.”

The boy’s eyes flew open, revealing startling blue irises swimming with tears. For a moment, he simply stared up at S’ven. Then, with a small, despairing cry, he threw himself at the bronze rider, wrapping his slender arms around his neck and clinging to him fiercely. At that, Kith swooped in below Math so that he could wrap his claws around her wing joints before any of the other dragons had time to react. Both riders cried out and their world burst into a million pieces as the two dragons joined together. 

It might have been hours or minutes, but finally S’ven came back to earth and found that he and Kith’s rider were alone. Kith and Math had landed safely, but were still twined together, reluctant to part. This was a tricky moment in any flight, with the riders desperate to follow their dragons into orgasm, but still needing to bring their beasts home. S’ven called for Math, but the bronze wasn’t listening, too wrapped up in the green he had just mated to pay attention his rider. 

S’ven cursed. With Lidia and Laurenth, this had never been a problem. Math obeyed his queen without question and Lidia was an experienced weyrwoman who had seen her queen through many, many mating flights. Kith’s young rider, however, was in no shape to exert his green’s lesser, but still considerable authority over the bronze she had just mated. The boy was still trembling in fear, but his body was also beginning to writhe against the bronze rider in an unmistakable demand for release.

“J’son,” S’ven said hoarsely into the lad’s hair, dredging the other rider’s name up out of his hazy memories from the beginning of the flight, “Call them home. It’s over, they have to come home now.”

“Can’t!” the boy sobbed, pressing closer to S’ven. “Hurts! Need…” 

“I know, love,” S’ven soothed, feeling his whole body hum in reaction to the boy’s desire. “I know what you need, and I’ll give it to you, I promise. I’ll stop the ache, baby, but first, you need to call Kith. We need to bring her and Math home safe, alright sweetheart?”

J’son must have obeyed, because S’ven’s next stern command to Math was met with grudging acceptance. With a groan of relief, S’ven bent his head and kissed the young green rider’s parted lips urgently, sliding his tongue deep into the boy’s mouth even as he began unfastening the lads shirt. J’son made a soft, needy sound in his throat and and kissed back clumsily as S’ven stripped him of his clothes. When S’ven pulled back to tear off his own garments— a more complicated proposition, as he was formally dressed for a meeting with the leaders of Pern— J’son blinked up at him, his blue eyes dark with equal parts need and fear.

When S’ven stood to kick off his boots and shed his riding pants, the boy’s gaze dropped and his face drained of color. He made an uncoordinated attempt to scramble away from the bronze rider.

“Oh no,” he said hoarsely. “Oh, shells, no, please, no. I can’t… at least use the salve, please use the salve, I can’t take that without…  _ please _ !”

S’ven followed J’son’s gaze and his own eyes widened as he deduced from the boy’s babbling that that he thought he was going to have to take S’ven— who was not a small man by any means— without any sort of preparation or anything to ease the process. 

_ Faranth’s egg, boy, what have they done to you?  _ S’ven wondered.

Then he remembered the lad’s nonsensical pleas of  _ not a bronze, please, please not a bronze _ and he cursed. 

Weyrfolk had famously broad sexual tastes, and when it came to choice of partners, they ran the spectrum from preferring one gender to embracing all genders, sometimes at the same time. There were certain patterns, however: green riders, for instance, were always at least open to having male bedmates and frequently preferred men exclusively. Bronze riders, on the other hand were the opposite, and were the most likely to exclusively prefer women. That wasn’t usually a problem, since queen riders were female, as were a healthy proportion of green riders, and most riders were careful to send their dragons up only if the green’s rider matched their own gender preferences. 

However, there was a certain amount of status in having one’s dragon win a mating flight— any mating flight— and there were always a few riders who would let their dragons fly after anything that rose. It was very easy for a rider who had no preference for or experience with men— a description which fit a great many bronze riders— to hurt a male partner in the passion of a mating flight.

S’ven shuddered. If that had been J’son’s experience of having a bronze fly his green, it was no wonder he was petrified.

“Easy lad, easy!” S’ven said quickly, sliding back onto the bed and gathering the terrified boy into his arms. “I’m not a new weyrling with no idea what he’s about. I’ll take care of you, love, I promise.”

Knowing that, at the moment, actions would speak much louder than words, S’ven laid J’son back down on the bed and reached for the jar of salve that had been set close to hand beside the bed. He met J’son’s eyes and held his gaze as he opened the jar, then, much to the boy’s surprise, he took J’son’s hand and coated his fingers with it. He then took the hand and laid it on the part of his anatomy that had frightened the lad so badly.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he said. “Use as much as you want.” 

As he spoke, S’ven coated his own hand with the salve, reached down, and slid a slick fingers over J’son’s entrance.

“I’m gonna open you up, love,” he said. “Breath for me, baby, and tell me if it hurts.”

J’son’s eyes were fixed on S’ven’s face now, and his face showed a jumbled mixture of fear and hope and dragonlust. S’ven leaned down to kiss him and slid the first finger in. J’son cried out against his mouth and the hand wrapped around S’ven tightened involuntarily, causing the bronze rider to groan. 

“That’s it,” S’ven whispered, calling up his memories of his time with L’gan and seeking out the boy’s sweet spot, causing him to nearly come off the bed. “How does that feel, baby?”

“Nguh!” was all the response J’son made.

“Any pain?” S’ven persisted, drawing his finger gently back and forth across that sensitive place inside his bed partner.

“No,” J’son whimpered, tossing his head from one side to the other. “Please… uh… oh, shards… nnnnh!”

“That’s it,” S’ven crooned, sliding in another finger. “That’s it, love. By the first egg, you’re beautiful. So beautiful sweetheart, so beautiful like this.”

As S’ven continued to open him up, J’son instinctively started to pump the bronze rider with his salve-slick hand. S’ven’s eyes rolled back and he moaned in approval, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“Scorch it!” he bit out. “Oh, baby, that feels… shells, yes! So good, so sharding good.”

Drawing on reserves of willpower he didn’t know he had, S’ven resisted the urge to take J’son right then in there and instead slid a third finger into the boy’s tight body.

“Oh!” J’son gasped, instinctively thrusting back against S’ven’s hand. “Unh…”

“Does it hurt at all, sweetheart?” S’ven gasped. “You have to… ugh! You have to tell me if it hurts, beautiful. Oh, shard it, so good!”

“So full,” J’son whimpered. “So…  _ oh _ !”

“I know,” S’ven breathed. “I know, gorgeous. You ready to be even more full?”

The young green rider’s eyes darted up to meet S’ven’s and his breath quickened. His pulse fluttered wildly at the base of his throat, but he nodded and moved so that S’ven could settle between his legs.

S’ven slid his hands down the boy’s legs and pushed his knees up to his chest, all the while holding J’son’s gaze.

“Remember,” he said, “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Please,” J’son gasped, arching his hips and biting his lower lip.

S’ven groaned.

He leaned down and fastened his mouth over J’son’s and, with one slow, steady thrust, slid into the boy’s tight, hot body. J’son writhed beneath him and let out a low, keening wail, and S’ven stilled, panting with the effort of keeping himself in check.

“Any pain, love?” he choked out.

“So full,” J’son sobbed, his hips arching helplessly up against the bronze rider. “So full— so  _ much _ — hot— so hot, burning up— need— please, need—”

“Okay, okay love,” S’ven soothed, beginning to thrust before the boy’s dragon-roused desire could turn to distress. “Oh, great shells, you feel so good baby, so  _ blasted  _ good. Oh, Faranth, yes!”

J’son cried out and twined his arms around S’ven’s neck, stretching up to press his mouth against his lover’s. S’ven adjusted the angle and, when he got it right, J’son mewled into his mouth and dug his fingernails into the bronze rider’s shoulders. S’ven could tell that neither of them were going to last long. Now that they were finally joined, the mating urge was stronger than ever. They moved against each other with frenzied purpose and soon J’son’s fingernails were digging into S’ven’s back while S’ven pounded into him. 

Far too quickly, S’ven felt J’son tighten around him. The boy’s back bowed and he came with a high, desperate cry. S’ven followed him over the edge with a sound that was half groan, half growl, flooding the young body beneath him with his release.

With the last of his strength, S’ven wrapped his arms around J’son and rolled to the side, pulling the smaller man onto his chest and tucking his tousled had beneath his chin. J’son was still trembling with the aftershock of his orgasm, and, as S’ven cradled him in his arms, he began to sob.

“Shhh,” S’ven soothed, stroking J’son’s back with a gentle hand. “Easy, love. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you, sweetheart?”

J’son shook his head, his tears still pouring out onto the bronze rider’s chest.

“Talk to me, beautiful,” S’ven murmured, continuing to hold the young green rider and petting him comfortingly. “What’s the matter?”

“So— good to me,” J’son gulped out, his words muffled against S’ven’s body. “Didn’t know— mating flight— didn’t know it could be— never been like this. Didn’t know— can’t—”

He trailed off with another sob, pressing his slim body harder against the bronze rider.

“Ah, love,” S’ven murmured, “Easy, now. I’ve got you. Easy, sweetheart.”

As he held the weeping boy, he silently cursed the riders who had been so clumsy with him and wondered a touch savagely if he should ask S’mon who they were so he could…  _ reeducate  _ them on exactly how a man should treat his bedmate during a mating flight.

Finally, the boy quieted, and S’ven used his free hand to tilt his head up, brushing sweaty brown curls back so he could look into J’son’s eyes.

“Better now, love?” he asked, smiling gently down at the young green rider.

The boy smiled shyly back at him.

“Better,” he said softly. “Thank you— oh, shards, I don’t even know your name!”

He flushed scarlet and bit his lip, ducking his head shyly.

“Great shells!” S’ven said, clapping his free hand over his eyes. “I completely forgot— oh, love, I’m so sorry. S’mon told me your name when he brought me up, but after… I forgot that you wouldn’t know. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m an idiot.”

“S’mon?” J’son squeaked. “S’mon as in  _ the weyrleader _ ?”

S’ven flushed a little himself, realizing belatedly that J’son was in for a bit of a shock.

“Er… yes,” he said. “We were still with the council when Kith started blooding her kill. When it became clear that Math was going to rise for her, S’mon and Chadrath, ah, gave me a lift.”

“The  _ council _ ?” J’son yelped. “What were you— wait,  _ Math _ ? You ride  _ Math _ ? But that means— you must be—”

He stuttered to a halt.

“Hello,” S’ven said, his mouth quirking sideways into a wry, embarrassed smile, “I’m S’ven, bronze Math’s rider, Weyrleader of Igen. It’s… nice to meet you?”  
S’ven winced at the last words, realizing as soon as he said them how ridiculous they sounded. J’son gaped up at him, stunned.

“Oh… by the shards,” he said blankly.

“I’m sorry,” S’ven said. “I suddenly realize this must be a, um, a bit of a surprise. To be fair, until now, I wasn’t really thinking all that clearly…”

J’son had gone very pale and now he made a feeble attempt to pull away, whimpering in distress.

“Whoa, easy lad!” S’ven said, pulling him more firmly against his chest and reaching up to stroke his hair. “It’s alright, no need to panic.”

“But… you… I… weyrleader… coucil… Holders… Mastercraftsmen… Weyrleader S’mon and Lady Meia… oh, Faranth, your weyrwoman! What must Lady Lidia think?”

“Oh, love, stop,”  S’ven said, brushing a kiss across the top of J’son’s curly head. “The dragonfolk understand and the rest you will never have to deal with. As for my weyrwoman, Lidia and I do not have the same kind of partnership that S’mon and Meia have, love. Her heart belongs to M’hew and always will, no matter who is weyrleader of Igen. She isn’t hurt or offended, I promise.”

“But… but I’m just a green rider!” J’son wailed. “I’m not even of your weyr. I don’t understand! Why would you…? Why would your bronze…?”

“I don’t know, love,” S’ven murmured, cradling J’son closer and nuzzling his hair. “I asked Math, but he could not explain. But Lidia reminded me that the first rule of being a rider is to always trust your dragon, so I must believe that he knew what he was about.”

< _ Of course I did _ ,> Math’s voice said in his head. < _ Hello, Kith’s rider. I am very pleased to meet you. _ >

J’son gasped.

“I heard… he spoke to me!” he cried. “Math  _ spoke  _ to me!”

“Indeed he did,” S’ven said in bemusement. 

Math had spoken to L’gan a couple of times, and to D’rel and A’sander, but he had never talked to Lidia, or to Shazza, S’ven’s lover before L’gan and the mother of his only child.

“I… uh… it is an honor to meet you, Math,” J’son stammered, his eyes as big as saucers.

< _ Are you and Kith back? _ > S’ven queried.

< _ We are, Math’s rider _ ,> said an unfamiliar, musical voice.

S’ven jumped and let out a startled yell.

“Kith?” he said aloud. “Is that you?”

< _ Of course it is! _ > the voice said with the equivalent of a draconic giggle. < _ Who else would it be? You are very silly, bronze rider! _ >

“ _ Kith _ !” J’son cried, flushing scarlet.

S’ven couldn’t help laughing at the green’s pert response.

“Well, aren’t you a delightful little lady?” he said. “No wonder Math couldn’t resist you!”

< _ Of course Math could not resist me _ ,> Kith said, and somehow S’ven could  _ tell _ that the little green was preening, even though he couldn’t see her. < _ I am the prettiest, smartest, most wonderful dragon on all of Pern. J’son says so. _ >

J’son let out a mortified moan and buried his burning face in S’ven’s chest.

< _Kith_ is _very_ _pretty,_ > Math put in. 

“Yes she is,” S’ven agreed, still laughing. “You have excellent taste, my friend.”

< _ I know, _ > Math said smugly.

< _ I have excellent taste too _ ,> the irrepressible Kith remarked. < _ Don’t you think so, J’son? _ >

J’son unburied his head enough to answer, although he still could not meet his bedmate’s eyes.

“Yes, you do,” he told his dragon. “I saw Math when the weyrleaders arrived for the council. He is very handsome.”

< _ Of course he is, _ > Kith said, her tone patronizing. < _ If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have let him catch me. But I was talking about his rider. _ >

“ _ What _ ?” J’son asked, bolting upright, then wincing as the sudden movement reminded him that his green had just risen.

S’ven sat up too, frowning with concern. He knew that J’son hadn’t been in pain while they were making love, but when all was said and done, it  _ had  _ been mating flight, and towards the end, he had not had much control.

“Tender, love?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” J’son protested, dropping his eyelids and looking away. “I’m so sorry for Kith, she…”

< _ You hurt _ ,> Kith interrupted. < _ Bronze rider, he needs to soak in the bathing pool and then he needs to use the lineament in the blue jar _ .>

S’ven started. He hadn’t talked with many dragons other than Math, but he was certain that none of them had been so astute. Or so forward.

“Oh my shells,” J’son cried, covering his face with his hands. “ _ Kith! _ ”

“Far be it for me to gainsay a lady,” S’ven said, sliding off the bed and reaching for his trousers. “Come on, love.”

He leaned down and scooped J’son, along with the topmost blanket from the bed, up into his arms, much to the lad’s surprise. The boy yelped and his arms went reflexively around S’ven’s neck.

“Here,” S’ven said, adjusting his hold and twitching the blanket so it lay across the boy’s lap. “No need to put on a show.”

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” J’son squeaked.

“You heard Kith,” S’ven said. “We’re going to see you right. Now, where’s the bathing room on this level?”

J’son gaped up at S’ven, too dumbfounded to answer.

< _ Left down the hall, third arch from the end _ ,> Kith said helpfully.

“How in the name of Faranth do you know that?” S’ven asked, heading for the inner entrance to J’son’s weyr. “You may be a dainty little lady, but even as a dragonet you would never have fit through this door.”

< _ J’son showed me, _ > Kith said.

S’ven cocked a questioning eyebrow at J’son, who was still gaping up at him like fish.

“It’s a game we play,” J’son said, still trying to come to grips with the fact that his lover was taking instruction from his dragon. “We started after… um, after Kith’s first mating flight. I… well, even if I didn’t like… like my part so much, I loved being able to see through Kith’s eyes. I… we wanted to see if we could do it other times, not just, you know, when Kith was rising.”

“Great shells,” S’ven said, stepping out into the hall and turning left. “I’ve never thought of that. I’m presuming that it works, since I’m following Kith’s directions?”

“Uh… yes, it works,” J’son stammered. “I— C’nor!”

This last was directed at another young rider who had just rounded the corner ahead of them and had subsequently stopped dead.

“Good evening,” S’ven said, smiling affably at the newcomer. 

“J’son?” C’nor said hesitantly. “Are you…?”

J’son ducked his head a little.

“I’m fine,” he said with a shy smile. “I’m… really, really fine.”

The other young rider breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Good,” he said. “Um, congratulations on the flight J’son,” he smiled tentatively at S’ven, “Weyrleader.”

“Thank you,” S’ven said with an answering smile, then continued down the passageway.

One of the perks of riding a bronze was that S’ven hadn’t shared a bathing room since he was a weyrling, since all the weyrs at Igen that were big enough to house Math had private bathing chambers. However, S’ven still remembered how it worked. 

It was too early for anyone else to be there, so he had his choice of bathing pools. He chose the one at the back, set J’son down carefully on the bench, and drew the curtain. J’son fidgeted uncomfortably, but waited as S’ven stripped off his riding pants and stepped into the pool. The bronze rider turned and held out his hands and the green rider stood shyly, taking them and allowing him to help him into the water.

“Ooooh,” J’son moaned as S’ven held him against his chest and eased them both down into the warm water.

“Better, love?” S’ven murmured softly.

J’son nodded, relaxing bonelessly into the bigger man’s arms. For a little while, S’ven just held him, and when he finally reached for the sweetsand, he took care not to disturb his young lover any more than necessary. Slowly and methodically, he washed the sweat and seed from J’son’s body, his touch firm, but tender. Soon, the boy was breathing hard, aroused anew by the feeling of the bronze rider’s big hands on his skin. S’ven wrapped his arms around J’son and bent his head to murmur in his ear. 

“I would very much like to make you come again, love, if you will allow it,” he said.

J’son twisted around quickly, his expression equal parts interest and trepidation.

“No,” S’ven said quickly, discerning the cause of his concern, “Not like that, sweetheart, I know you’re sore. But there are other ways I can make you feel good.”

J’son’s breath hitched and his blue eyes darkened much like they had before, only this time there was only a trace of fear mixed in with the desire.

“Do I have your permission?” S’ven asked quietly.

J’son bit his lip and nodded, and S’ven smiled. He wrapped his hands around the boy’s waist, lifting him up to sit on the edge of the pool. He spread J’son’s legs apart and moved in between them. He leaned forward and kissed him, long and slow, then began moving down his body, nibbling her, licking there, before finally reaching his goal and taking the young rider into his mouth. J’son’s hands grabbed onto his shoulders and his head fell back, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. 

“Oh!” he moaned. “Oh, shards, I— unngh!”

S’ven took his time, enjoying the process, and enjoying J’son’s reaction to it even more. S’ven loved this kind of lovemaking, loved having the leisure to focus his attention entirely on making his partner feel good. Oddly, it wasn’t L’gan who had taught him how to do this for a man, but Shazza, who, when asked, had been happy to share the secrets of her formidable skill in the art of fellatio. 

After many long minutes, when J’son had become completely incoherent with pleasure and want, S’ven tilted his chin in that certain way that would allow him to swallow the boy completely. J’son lost control, crying out and spilling helplessly down his partner’s throat. He fell forward, gasping, and S’ven pulled back and sat up just in time to catch him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured into J’son’s ear. “So beautiful.”

He lifted J’son back into the pool and set him carefully on the stone lip. While the boy lolled back in the warm water, S’ven quickly finished his own ablutions, then, with a quick kiss, left the pool, dried off, and went in search of the lineament Kith had insisted on. The bathing chamber was, unsurprisingly, well stocked and S’ven found it quickly. Gather up the jar and a towel, he returned to his young lover, who was finally rousing himself from the stupor brought on by his second orgasm in as many hours.

“Come on, love,” S’ven said. “Let’s get you up and dry and seen to, then we can put you back in your own bed for a proper nap.”

J’son acceded docilely to S’ven’s ministrations, allowing the older rider to help him out of the water, dry him off, and apply the healing balm to his sore flesh. He moaned and tossed his head restlessly when S’ven pushed a careful finger into his entrance to spread the balm inside him, but S’ven soothed him with kisses and soft words and he soon relaxed again. When he was done, S’ven wrapped him in a towel, and, against his muzzy protests, picked him up again and carried him back down the corridor to his weyr.

There, he laid the exhausted boy down and slipped off his pants before sliding into bed again, pulling J’son onto his chest once more. The young green rider fell asleep almost immediately, and to his surprise, S’ven found his own eyelids closing as well. As he drifted into sleep, he thought he heard Math’s voice in his head:

< _ Your rider is good for mine. _ >

< _ J’son needs him _ ,> another voice that he vaguely recognized as Kith’s replied.

< _ It will not be easy, _ > Math said, sounding worried.

< _ I know, _ > Kith replied. < _ They are  _ very _ silly. But it will be alright in the end. _ >

 

***

 

S’ven was awakened several hours later by a step in the hallway and a low, female voice murmuring J’son’s name. He got out of bed carefully, making sure not to wake J’son, and, after putting on his pants, padded to the inner entrance, where he found a tall, handsome woman with sober eyes and copious amounts of gray hair standing with a tray of food in her hands. Her level brows rose when she saw S’ven and she studied him consideringly for a long moment before bowing her head in greeting.

“Weyrleader S’ven,” she said. “I did not know you were still here.”

S’ven frowned.

“Is it not the custom to stay the night after a mating flight?” he asked, somewhat offended that she thought he would abandon a rider mere hours after his bronze had mated the man’s green.

“Of course,” the gray-haired woman said. “I beg your pardon, Weyrleader. I meant no offense. I am Imogen, Headwoman of Fort Weyr. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well,” S’ven said, still vaguely unsettled.

“I came to see how J’son does, and to bring him this,” Imogen said. “It is well past dinner, and a lad his age cannot afford to miss meals, particularly after a mating flight.”

“Of course,” S’ven said, confused now as well as uneasy. A weyr’s Headwoman could not, after all, appear with food every time a green rider missed a meal due to a mating flight. “Please, come in. J’son is still sleeping, but…”

He trailed off as Imogen walked by him and entered the weyr. She set the tray on the trunk at the foot of the bed and moved to J’son’s side, running a sharp eye over all of him that she could see. After a moment, she turned her penetrating back to S’ven.

“No bruises,” she said. “That is an improvement. Is there anything that I cannot see that would require the Healer’s attendance?”

S’ven recoiled in shock, even though he already knew that J’son had been treated poorly during Kith’s previous mating flights.

“No,” he said, swallowing. “He was a little sore, but he soaked for a time in the bathing pool and I applied balm.”

Imogen’s face softened.

“Thank you, weyrleader,” she said. “I am glad that he was in kind hands this time. He has not always fared so well.”

“So I have gathered,” S’ven said. He hesitated, then said, “You… look after him when Kith rises?

Imogen nodded.

“I’ve been worrying on the lad since the day he was Searched,” she said, looking down at the sleeping boy once more, her face tender. “I knew even then that he would not have an easy time of it. His was one of the last hatchings before the queens started laying lighter. By that time, there was scarce a likely lad or lass over twelve in the weyr or any hold beholden to it who had not already Impressed, so they took him even though he was far too young. If we had not been so desperate for candidates, he wouldn’t have stood on the sands for another two turns at least, and he certainly wouldn’t have Impressed a green. He’s not meant for it, he lacks the temperament, and when her time comes… he pays the price.”

“That is the fault of his partners, not him,” S’ven said flatly. “There is no excuse for treating a green rider ill during a mating flight.”

Imogen shrugged. 

“I do not think they realize that they are doing him harm,” she said. “They are accustomed to green riders being more… eager. But J’son… he’s not meant to share himself so freely, nor to be used so hard.”

S’ven winced, knowing that what Imogen said was true. J’son was young, he would adapt, but S’ven doubted he would have be entirely easy with a green rider’s lot. He would have done better on a blue or a brown or even a bronze.

Imogen sighed and straightened.

“Well,” she said briskly, turning for the door, “No use weeping over thread already charred. I thank you for caring for our rider, weyrleader.”

S’ven inclined his head.

“It is my honor,” he said. “Thank you for your pains. I will make sure he eats when he awakes.”

Imogen smiled.

“Do not forget to eat something yourself,” she said. “There is more than enough for two. Nobody goes hungry in my weyr.”

S’ven smiled back. Headwomen, it seemed were the same Pern over. Pamina, though physically the exact opposite of Imogen, was identical in her insistence that there would never be an empty belly at Igen so long as she was headwoman.

Imogen left and S’ven, after checking on the sleeping J’son, went through the arch that led to Kith’s weyr. 

The sight that met his eyes caused him to burst out laughing. 

Math’s huge bronze form took up the entire cavern with scarcely an inch of space leftover. In fact, the end of his tail did not quite fit and had been left outside on the ledge. Kith, undaunted by the lack of room, had simply draped herself on top of her mate, her smaller body fitting neatly into the curve of his bigger one.

Kith stirred and lifted one eyelid, moaning as though it were a great effort on her part.

“Hello, Kith,” S’ven murmured.

< _ Hello S’ven, bronze Math’s rider, _ > Kith replied flirtatiously. 

S’ven smiled, charmed both by the green’s coquettishness and by her use of his name. As he understood it, for a dragon to name a person not their rider was a great honor.

“Comfortable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

< _ Math is very warm, _ > Kith said with the draconic equivalent of a shrug, < _ But next time, I want a bigger weyr. _ >

“Next time?” S’ven asked, surpised for several reasons.

The first was, of course, that, properly speaking,  _ this  _ time had not been supposed to happen, so there being a  _ next  _ time rather wildly improbable. The second was that he had always heard— and observed— that dragons did not really understand the concept of past and future.

< _ Silly _ ,> Kith yawned. < _ If we didn’t understand, how could we know when thread comes? _ > Then her head came up. < _ J’son wakes _ ,> she said, her tone worried. < _ He needs you, bronze rider. Go to him. _ >

Concerned, S’ven made his way quickly back into J’son’s weyr. The young rider was sitting up in bed, looking around in wide-eyed panic. When he saw S’ven, his whole body seemed to relax and he let out a breath. 

S’ven’s jaw set. It seemed, from J’son’s behavior, that Imogen’s fear that he would leave J’son alone as soon as he was finished with him was not groundless, which galled him mightily. Not only was that the height of bad manners, it caused both dragons and riders— particularly the green pairing— no little distress to be parted too soon after mating. Was no one in this weyr teaching its riders proper etiquette?

“Hello there, love,” S’ven said, going to sit on the bed and reaching out to brush back J’son’s curls. “How do you feel?”

J’son smiled sleepily and leaned unconsciously into the touch.

“Good,” he murmured. 

“Imogen was here,” S’ven said. “She brought food, since we missed dinner. Are you hungry?”

J’son sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake.

“Shells,  _ yes _ !” he said. “I could eat a herdbeast!”

S’ven laughed and retrieved the tray. settling himself against the headboard and setting the food between them. There was fruit and bread, cheese and cold meats, along with a jar of wine. A preliminary taste of this last revealed that it was fairly strong and that Imogen had not watered it. She must, S’ven thought with a tightening in his chest, have expected J’son to need the potent vintage in order to sleep.

“How are Kith and Math?” J’son asked between mouthfuls. “I can’t imagine how they are even fitting in Kith’s weyr. Unless Math is sleeping elsewhere?”

He tried to sound casual, but was obviously as distressed by the thought of Math abandoning his dragon as he was by the idea of Math’s rider leaving him.

“No, they’re both there,” S’ven assured him. “It’s quite a sight. Math is curled up like a dragonet in an egg, and Kith is right there on top of him, bold as you please.”

“She’s absolutely shameless,” J’son said, and even his embarrassment did not lessen the helpless affection in his voice. “They say a dragon is no better than its rider, but what they  _ don’t  _ tell you is that dragons and riders can be  _ complete opposites _ . Sometimes it seems like Kith is doing it on purpose, making sure that she is exactly what I’m not so we don’t— I don’t know, miss anything.”

“Hmm,” S’ven said, fascinated. “What an extraordinary question. It’s true, Math is part of me, but he’s definitely not a mirror image. He’s not my opposite either, though, he’s more… a distillation? I don’t know, sometimes like he’s a truer version of me, all of my most essential thoughts and feelings put together without my confusion or my nonsense.”

J’son cocked his head, frowning thoughtfully as he munched on a piece of fruit.

“You know, everyone makes out like it’s all so simple, dragons being extensions of their riders, but it’s not,” he said. “I mean, they hatch, and presumably they don’t know anything, but then they Impress and just like that, they have language and a personality and a working knowledge of the world, and we haven’t the least idea how that happens, we just know that it  _ does  _ happen somehow. And obviously, it doesn’t happen the same way with every rider and dragon, because if it did, I’m  _ certain _ Kith wouldn’t be so outrageous all the time.”

J’son had quite run out of breath and S’ven was staring at him openmouthed. It seemed that there was more going on in the boy’s curly head than met the eye, enough, S’ven thought, for two or three ordinary people. J’son, seeing S’ven’s bewilderment, blushed a little and looked away.

“I wonder about things,” he mumbled. “I can’t help it.”

“Nor should you,” S’ven said quickly, shaking off his surprise. “As you say, there is much about dragons that we do not know, which, considering we live our lives around them, is passing odd. I mean, we’re told that the dragons know best from the time that we are weyrlings, and they usually seem to, but I for one would very much like to know  _ how  _ they know rather than following their word on blind faith. Faranth knows, they can never explain themselves.”

“I know!” J’son said excitedly. “I finally stopped asking Kith to explain and started asking her why she  _ wouldn’t  _ explain. Most of the time she just says ‘because that’s just the way it is,’ or something like that, but one time she said, ‘You humans are so odd. You can hear, but you don’t hear.’ I asked her what we didn’t hear, and she said, ‘Everything.’ I couldn’t figure it out for the longest time, but then I remembered that for Kith, hearing doesn’t necessarily mean  _ hearing _ , since that’s not how she communicates, and I realized, she was talking about mindspeaking. I mean, imagine, you’re a dragon, and from the moment you hatch, you’re talking to your rider and all these other dragons in your head, and maybe there’s other things you can hear too, who knows, but we riders, we just hear our dragons. Maybe a few other people’s dragons too, if we’re lucky. We must seem practically deaf to them.”

“We must at that,” S’ven agreed. “Why do you think she said that? How does it connect with what they know, but can’t tell us?”

“Well, it must be a very different way of seeing world, mustn’t it?” J’son said. “Everything they learn, everything they think, is based on a method of communication we can barely even use. Shells, lots of people can’t do it at all. That’s why there’s Searches, right? To go out and figure out which children might be able to hear a dragon and which can’t.”

“True,” S’ven said. “It makes sense, when you think about it, us not being very good at mindspeaking. After all, we aren’t even from the same planet originally. Really, the wonder isn’t that so few people can hear dragons, it’s that any of us can.”

“That’s not entirely an accident,” J’son pointed out, swallowing a mouthful of bread and cheese. “Our ancestors made dragons out of firelizards, they must have… I don’t know, tried to make sure we could meet each other half-way. I mean, I’ve never actually met a firelizard, but I’m pretty sure they don’t talk to people like dragons do, with words and everything.”

“You know an awful lot about this,” S’ven remarked. “Most people don’t know that dragons didn’t evolve naturally. Shells, I only know because I’m a weyrleader and I’ve read a lot of records from the First Pass.”

“I used to spend a lot of time talking with our Weyr Harper, before he… before he and his dragon went  _ between _ ,” J’son said, his face falling. “Harpers have their own records, and the songs…”

He trailed off unhappily. S’ven reached out and laid a hand on the boy’s head, stroking his curls lightly.

“I know,” he said quietly. “It is part of life during threadfall, but it hurts just the same.”

“We… it was horrible, those last few turns,” J’son whispered. “Fort lost so many riders, more than we’d ever lost before. My weyrling class was sent up six months before we should have been because there were so many gaps in the wings, and that meant  _ more  _ riders and dragons dying, because we were too green to really be out there, but there was nothing else to do, we had to fight thread…”

The young rider swallowed hard.

S’ven let out a long, slow breath. Carefully, he put the tray aside and pulled J’son into his arms, leaning his cheek against the top of the boy’s curly head. He knew that both Fort and Benden had taken heavy losses in the last turns of the Pass, heavier than any of the other weyrs. Part of that was the fact that they were responsible for the most holds, but S’ven also remembered what Lidia had said after Math and Laurenth’s first mating flight. Had having a fresh weyrleader, one that wasn’t exhausted and just trying to hang on until the end of the Pass, helped to prevent Igen from experiencing the same catastrophic losses as Fort?

“It’s over now,” S’ven said. “Thread is gone, and it won’t return in our lifetime. It doesn’t bring back those we lost, but I take comfort in the fact that I will never have to watch another rider die of threadscore or feel another dragon go  _ between  _ before its time.”

“I don’t know how you weyrfolk did it,” J’son said. “Being born in the middle of a Pass, feeling that loss turn after turn… I was only here for the last four years of it, and I thought the grief would drive me mad.”

“It was hard,” S’ven said. “But I didn’t grow up in the weyr, love. I was craftbred, Tannercraft Hall.”

“I was craftbred too,” J’son said. “My family were weavers, but I was going to the Harper Hall when I was old enough.”

He sounded a little wistful.

“You still could, love,” S’ven said. “Now that the Pass is over, you could study at the Harper Hall, get your journeyman’s knots at least. It’s something we’ve been speaking of, the weyrleaders, the Holders, and the Mastercraftsmen, what we dragonfolk should do now that we have no thread to fight. There’s quite a few folk, the Masterharper among them, who think that the doors of the crafthalls should be thrown open to those dragonriders who wish to learn a trade.”

“I think… I think I might like that,” J’son said hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t want to leave the weyr, I’m… I have Kith, I’m a dragonrider now.”

“Don’t worry, no one would ask you leave,” S’ven said. “Kith may be little compared to Math, but she’s still a dragon. No craft hall on Pern has room enough to house her, or herds to feed her, come to that. However, as a dragonrider, you have a bit of an advantage; you can live in the weyr and still be wherever you want in the blink of an eye.”

“Oh,” J’son said, giggling a little. “I, um, didn’t think of that.”

He grinned, then abruptly yawned, taking himself by surprise if his startled look was anything to go by.

“I think it may be time for you to go back to sleep, love,” S’ven said, laughing. 

“Not tired,” J’son protested, yawning again.

S’ven snorted.

“And I have a  _ klah _ mine in Crom to sell you,” he said, sitting up and grabbing the empty tray. “Come on, let’s get you back in bed. I’ll put this outside the door and be right back.”

By the time S’ven had disposed of the tray and turned down the glows, J’son was curled up on his side, covers pulled up to his chin. He wasn’t quite asleep though, and when S’ven slid back into bed with him, he squirmed closer until he was nestled tightly into the bronze rider’s arms. S’ven smiled and dropped a kiss on his hair.

“Goodnight, love,” he said. 

The only answer was a soft snore.

 

***

 

S’ven awoke to a low, mumbling sound. There was a warm body in his arms, and for a moment he could not remember who it belonged to, or, indeed, where he was. Then recollection returned, along with the realization that the mumbling was actually J’son, still curled up in his arms, talking to himself in his sleep.

“Mmm nmn um  _ wrong one! _ ” they boy murmured. “Tunnel snakes…  _ other  _ saddlebag!”

S’ven snorted in delight at the lad’s improbable ramblings and settled into a more comfortable position, pulling J’son a little closer.

“No, Rab,” S’ven muttered, “We can’t use porridge.”

This went on for quite a while, but at length, J’son stopped talking. Soon, he began shifting restlessly in S’ven’s arms and snuffling into the pillow. S’ven knew when he finally woke, because his breathing changed and he went abruptly still.

“Good morning, love,” S’ven said. “D’you know you talk in your sleep?”

“Th’other weyrlings used t’say they were gonna gag me one night,” J’son slurred sleepily, rolling over onto his back, eyes still closed.

Then his eyes opened and he let out a startled sound, suddenly fully awake. 

“Oh,” he said. “ _ Oh _ ! Uh…”

The boy looked like he was about to panic, so S’ven leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“Mmmmn,” J’son moaned, and his body relaxed abruptly back into S’ven’s arms.

S’ven took his time, savoring the warmth and softness of J’son’s lips, and by the time he pulled back, both of them were a little breathless.

“Good morning,” J’son breathed.

“Am I so horrifying a sight to wake up to?” S’ven teased.

He did it mostly to make the lad blush, which might have been unworthy of him, but J’son truly was adorable when he was feeling shy. Sure enough, color bloomed instantly along J’son’s high cheekbones and spilled down his face and neck.

“I— that— no!” J’son spluttered. “No,” he repeated, getting ahold of himself, “I can think of at least half a dozen things that would be far worse to see first thing in the morning.”

S’ven blinked, surprised, then tilted his head back and laughed.

“So,” he said, ruffling J’son’s curls and grinning, “Kith didn’t get all the cheek in this partnership after all.”

J’son smiled shamefacedly and ducked his head.

“Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound terribly repentant.

“Whatever for?” S’ven asked.

“I really shouldn’t sass the weyrleader of Igen,” J’son replied with a wry little grin. “My mother would have a fit. And Lady Meia would do that thing with her eyebrow… er, that is, she would be most displeased.”

S’ven sobered.

“Listen to me,” he said, laying his hand along the boy’s jaw and turning him to face him. “We are in your weyr, in your bed, by the choice of your green. Whatever we are outside of this room, here we are equals. You are a green rider, J’son, and that position that demands respect. Do you understand?”

J’son frowned, clearly confused.

“Not really,” he said. “I mean, every dragon is needed to fight thread, but I don’t see how greens or green riders are special. They’re fast, but they don’t have the same stamina as the other dragons, and they can’t cover as much air-space. And they don’t lay eggs, so…”

“I’m not talking about fighting thread,” S’ven said,  “And I’m not talking about clutching, either. Mating flights aren’t just for making eggs, love, they’re necessary for order and health of the weyr. Dragons— all dragons, not just bronzes— need to rise every now and again. They don’t need to win a flight, but they do need to fly, otherwise they get fractious and begin fighting with other dragons. And even if blues and browns could keep up with a queen, which they can’t, there aren’t enough queens to provide the number of mating flights a weyr needs. If it weren’t for the greens, the dragons would be tearing each other apart in no time.”

J’son had gone a little pale at the thought of dragon fighting dragon, but he was clearly intrigued by the information.

“I didn’t know that,” he said. 

“That’s odd,” S’ven said. “It was standard instruction when I was a weyrling.”

J’son’s face grew grave.

“Oh,” he said. “That might be why. Fort’s weyrlingmaster died right before I Impressed, and he’d only been weyrlingmaster for a few turns, so he hadn’t had time to train a replacement. There were a couple different riders sort of… filling in, I guess, but with so many dead or grounded…”

“The primary concern was getting you in the air as soon as possible,” S’ven finished for him. 

Well, this explained a few things. He had been wondering why Fort’s riders appeared to lack a basic education in weyr etiquette, and now he had his answer: there had been nobody to teach it. 

J’son’s lashes fell.

“So Kith’s mating flights, they’re not just… a meaningless exercise?” he said softly. “They… they actually have a purpose?”

“Oh, love,” S’ven said, reaching up to stroke J’son’s curls. “No, they aren’t pointless. They’re vital to the peace and happiness of the weyr. I know they haven’t been easy for you, sweetheart. From what I’ve heard and what you’ve said, it is obvious that you haven’t been treated well by the riders who you’ve been with. I’m guessing they were all young, Impressed around the same time as you?”

“Yes,” J’son said softly. “How did you know?”

“Because their dragons rose for Kith’s first mating flights,” S’ven said. “Dragons tend to rise with their near age-mates until they get a little bit older. Usually it works out for the best, since riders who were weyrlings around the same time will all know each other and be comfortable together, but I think it may have served you ill. You might have done better with an older rider, one with more control and less need to prove themselves, someone with the experience and the patience to teach you how to find pleasure in it.”

J’son’s lashes rose and he looked shyly up at S’ven.

“Someone like you?” he said.

“Well,” S’ven said with a wry twist of his mouth, “If I had been asked to pick someone for you, I wouldn’t have chosen a strange bronze rider from another weyr who would scare you half to death, but other than that, yes, someone like me.”

J’son gnawed fretfully on his lower lip, clearly wanting to say something, but unsure how to go about it.

“What is it, love?” S’ven encouraged. “Don’t be nervous. You can say anything to me.”

J’son let out a little gulp of laughter, then took a deep breath.

“Would you— I know I have no right to ask, but— wouldyouteachme?” he asked in a rush.

“What’s that, love?” S’ven asked.

“You said— you said maybe I needed someone to show me how to— how to find pleasure in, in mating,” J’son said, going red again. “The thing is… the thing is, I’ve never been with anyone except when Kith’s rising, and… well… before last night, I always hated it. That was the first time I— the first time— Oh shard it! I want it to feel like that again! Would you… would you teach me how?”

S’ven’s whole body tensed and a low shudder ran through him. He closed his eyes and made a sound that was almost— but not quite, that would have been embarrassing— a whimper. Then he opened them and looked at J’son.

“It would be my honor, love,” he said hoarsely.

Then he leaned down and kissed J’son hard, digging his fingers into his curls. The boy gave a muffled cry, and S’ven took the opportunity to lick his way into J’son’s mouth. His hand untangled from the curls and trailed down J’son’s small, lithe body, caressing the skin of his chest, his abdomen, his hip, his thigh, exploring the contours of his muscles, rubbing the jutting prominence of his his hipbone. J’son had gone as taut as a harpstring, practically quivering with tension, and S’ven pulled back a little.

“Okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with his own building arousal, “First lesson, love: relax. The easiest way for you to get hurt is if your body is tense. When you clench the muscles here,” he ran his big hand across J’son’s flat belly, causing him to shiver, “And here,” trailing his fingers down between the boy’s legs and brushing them lightly across his entrance, “It makes it hard to take a partner. Those muscles are really strong, love, but the flesh here is fragile.” He pressed lightly, causing J’son to whimper and arch his hips involuntarily. “It’s easily torn or abraded, and if you’re clenching down, even a considerate bedmate won’t be able to avoid hurting you.”

“Oh,” J’son said, swallowing convulsively. “I… I don’t know if I can… It feels so good, but I’m also really nervous…”

The big eyes that met S’ven’s were anxious and slightly ashamed, as though he blamed himself for not doing this better.

“Shhh,” S’ven soothed, removing his hand from between J’son’s legs and rubbing the boy’s trembling abdomen. “It’s alright, love. Going tense is one of the body’s natural reactions to both excitement and fear, it’s perfectly normal, especially for a dragonrider. How you feel right now, it’s kind of how you feel when you fight thread, right?”

“Sort of,” J’son said, frowning worriedly. “Not as bad, I’m not… not afraid that somebody’s going to die or anything, so…”

“That’s right,” S’ven said encouragingly. “It feels similar, but it’s a different situation and you want to teach your body to react to it differently. There’s no shame in not knowing how at first. You may have been born knowing that you want this, love, but that doesn’t mean you were born knowing how to let it happen. Now, I want you to breath for me, deep breaths.”

The first breath was shaky, as was the second, but by the third, some of the strain had left J’son’s body and his breathing became more even. 

“Good,” S’ven said, kissing the boy’s eyelids softly. “You’re doing so good, baby. Now, breath in, and then breath out, and when you breath out, try to relax. Breath in. Breath out. That’s it, love, you’re doing great.”

He had J’son keep breathing until his body was sprawled loose and soft on the bed, then he smiled and kissed him sweetly.

“So good, baby,” he said. “Now, we’re going to play a little, see what you like. Second lesson: know your body. Everybody’s a little different, they like different things done in different ways. There’s some things that almost everybody likes, like this,” he rubbed his hand up and down J’son’s rigid flesh, causing him to arch and cry out, “And this,” he leaned down and sucked on one of the boy’s nipples, which led to writhing and babbling, “But lots of things vary from person to person. Like this.” He slid up J’son’s body to suck gently at the base of his neck. “D’you like that, baby?” he asked.

“Mmnn-yes,” J’son said.

“What about this?” He blew gently on the skin he had just sucked.

J’son made a fretful sound and tried to pull away.

“No?” S’ven asked.

“Uh… it’s fine,” J’son said, looking anxious.

“I don’t think it is, baby,” S’ven said. “Third lesson: never do anything you don’t want to. Don’t be scared to tell me no, sweetheart. You won’t disappoint me. All I want right now is to help you figure out what you like and what you don’t. Everybody has different tastes. I don’t like having my ears licked. Lots of people do, but it feels bad to me.”

“Okay,” J’son said. “So I, uh, didn’t really like that.”

“Good boy,” S’ven said.

He moved on, discovering that J’son was exquisitely sensitive pretty much everywhere, but particularly on his neck, down his sides, and at the small of his back. He didn’t like tickling in any form, but, surprisingly, reacted wonderfully to gentle nips in the right places. 

When S’ven sat J’son up, threaded his fingers through his curls and carefully, but inexorably, pulled his head back, the boy moaned and the blue of his eyes almost disappeared into the black. 

“You like that?” S’ven asked huskily.

“Yes!” J’son whimpered.

S’ven kissed him deep and hard, holding his head in place with his hand, and the sounds J’son made were positively sinful.

“What about this?” S’ven asked, using his hold on J’son’s hair to jerk his head sharply to the side and nipping hard at his neck.

“No!” J’son said immediately, his body going tense and quivery. “I’m sorry S’ven, I…”

“Shhh, shhh,” Sven said, immediately gentling his hold and stroking the boy’s back to calm him down. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart, you did good. Now we know that you like it hard and maybe even a little rough, but you don’t like it when your partner gets out of control. It makes perfect sense, baby. You’re so sensitive, if whoever you’re with isn’t paying attention, they might not know when enough becomes too much.”

Privately, S’ven was worried, although he didn’t say so aloud. The more he discovered about J’son’s body, the more he was forced to agree with Imogen: the boy really wasn’t cut out to be a green rider. His desires were  balanced on a razor’s edge, with a very fine line separating pleasure from pain, need from fear. A partner in the grip of dragonlust was not going to be able to distinguish those kinds of nuances, and he certainly wasn’t going to have the delicate touch needed to walk the line between satisfying J’son and hurting him.

It was no wonder that Fort’s riders had ended up traumatizing the poor boy during Kith’s previous mating flights.

J’son’s breathing was still a little uneven as he looked up at S’ven, desire and confusion and anxiety all mingled on his face. He wasn’t relaxed anymore, so S’ven pressed a kiss to his forehead and stroked back his hair as he spoke softly to him.

“It’s okay, love. Relax, remember? Come on, breath in. Now breath out. In, out, in out.”

Slowly, some of the rigidity left the boy’s body and he stopped shaking.

“How are you doing, love?” he asked. “What do you need?”

J’son looked up at him, clearly reluctant, but aware by now that S’ven really did want to know what he needed.

“I— I think I need— I need to us to stop playing,” J’son stumbled out.

“How do you mean, love?” S’ven asked, thinking he knew, but wanting to make sure.

“I mean, do this— do this for real,” J’son said, “Like— like you would— like we would— not just… exploring, but—”

“You want to stop fooling around and make love now,” S’ven said, smiling encouragingly.

J’son nodded vigorously.

“Thank Faranth!” S’ven said vehemently, wrapping one arm around J’son’s hips and bringing them flush with his own. 

J’son’s eyes widened comically, and before he could help himself, he let out a gulp of laughter. He tried to rein it in, but it only got worse when S’ven, unable to imagine what could be so funny, gave him a bewildered look.

“Irony!” J’son managed between giggles.

S’ven was even more puzzled now, but the boy’s laughter was infectious, and he found his mouth twitching.

“Care to explain, love?” he asked.

“Irony,” J’son hiccuped, “A revelation that is the opposite of what the situation has led one to expect. You… so calm, so controlled, like you didn’t even want… but you want so much!”

“Of course I do,” S’ven said, allowing himself to thrust gently against J’son by way of demonstration. 

“Mmmmnn,” J’son moaned breathily, thrusting reflexively back against S’ven. “Thought… without Math and Kith… bronze rider… wouldn’t want me.”

S’ven pulled away a little and, very deliberately, took J’son’s hand and placed it over his arousal.

“I want you,” he said, hissing as J’son closed his fingers around the evidence. “So beautiful, so responsive… would have to be dead not to. But I told you before, I’m not some untried weyrling; I can control myself.”

“Like that,” J’son said, pumping gently. “Like your control. Don’t like it when you use it that way, though. Not nice, being the only one wanting. Makes me feel… lonely. Weak. Wanton.”

“Not weak, love,” S’ven gasped, reaching down to do for J’son what J’son was doing for him. “Never weak. So strong, so brave… And as for wanton— only in the best way possible.”

J’son cried out as S’ven began to stroke him in earnest, bucking into the bronze rider’s hand.

“Gorgeous,” S’ven murmured. “So gorgeous, love. I’m going to make you feel so good. And you’re going to make  _ me  _ feel so good. Want you so much, sweetheart.”

J’son drew his breath in sharply, then gave a painful little moan.

“You like that, sweetheart?” S’ven asked, stroking his fingers down J’son’s back and pausing at the base of his spine, rubbing one finger teasingly against the place where his backbone met his buttocks. “You like knowing how good you’re going to make me feel, how desperately I want to be inside you? How I’m going push into your tight, hot body over and over again until I can’t take the pleasure anymore and I spill myself deep inside you, fill you up to the brim?”

Apparently, J’son  _ did  _ like that. He cried out and looked up at the older rider with wide, desperate eyes.

“Please,” he begged, “ _ Please _ . Want that… want to feel you… want to make you feel good.”

“Oh, love,” S’ven said, with another inward flare of concern. 

This latest revelation did nothing to reassure him. A careless rider could all too easily take advantage of J’son’s desire to please, thinking that just because the boy was aroused by his partner’s pleasure, he must, perforce, enjoy anything his partner might take pleasure _in_ , regardless of his own comfort.

“Lay down, love,” S’ven said, putting aside his worry. “Let me get you ready. So good, love, so good seeing you like this.”

J’son obeyed with alacrity and S’ven reached for the salve, smiling appreciatively when J’son parted his legs for him without being asked.

The boy was still somewhat loose from the night before, and the balm they had used appeared to have done its job, because he showed no indications of pain when S’ven slid first one, then two fingers into him. Still, S’ven wanted to make sure.

“Sore at all, love?” he asked, thrusting his fingers gently in and out.

J’son shook his head, arching into S’ven’s hand and humming in pleasure.

“Shells, you’re gorgeous,” S’ven swore.

Three fingers made J’son tense up and whimper a little, but S’ven soothed him.

“Easy, love,” he said, “Remember, breath in, breath out.”

J’son did as directed, and at length S’ven judged him to be ready. 

“Come here, love,” he said, sitting back against the head of J’son’s bed and holding out his hands. “I want to try something.”

J’son looked at him questioningly, his eyes already half unfocused with pleasure, but he came willingly, following S’ven’s directions until he ended up in the bronze rider’s lap, straddling his thighs. S’ven made the necessary adjustments, then placed his hands lightly on J’son’s waist and looked up at the blinking boy.

“You take what you want, love,” he said. “As slow as you want, as gentle as you want.”

J’son’s eyes widened and he bit his lip, suddenly anxious.

“Now, now, none of that,” S’ven said, stroking his back. “Relax. In. Out.”

J’son breathed and relaxed, but the worry did not leave his eyes.

“We’re just going to try it, love,” S’ven reassured him. “See if you like it.” 

“Do… do you like it?” J’son asked hesitantly.

“On occasion,” S’ven said, smiling. “And I already know it will be fantastic with you.”

He wasn’t about to explain that, while he would do most things within reason to please a partner, this was not generally one of his favorite positions. Both L’gan and Lidia had used it to assert dominance, and S’ven was, it transpired, not much inclined towards submission. He had enjoyed it with Shazza though, and he already knew that J’son would be like her rather than L’gan or Lida, wanting his participation and encouragement rather than his unconditional surrender.

Carefully, S’ven helped J’son to lower himself onto him, hissing as the head of his arousal breached the boy. J’son gave a startled “Ah!” and froze, panting.

“Alright, love?” S’ven asked, controlling his breathing with an effort.

“It hurts,” J’son said. “Why does it hurt?”

“How badly?” S’ven asked.

“Not… not badly,” J’son said, squirming a little, causing S’ven to clench his teeth against the tantalizing pleasure. “It… stings. But it didn’t last night. What am I doing wrong?”

Reassured, S’ven stroked J’son’s back and leaned up to kiss him.

“Nothing, love,” he said. “It’s normal. Like I said, the flesh there is very tender. As for why it didn’t hurt last night, it probably  _ did _ , a little, you just didn’t feel it. You were in the middle of a mating flight, love, your blood was up, you wouldn’t have felt a little pain. Like when you fight thread and you can’t feel it right away when you get scored. Relax, sweetheart, it will ease in a minute.”

S’ven thought that they would wait until J’son’s discomfort passed, but once he had been assured that everything was fine, the boy immediately began to lower himself onto S’ven once more. S’ven cried out, his hands tightening involuntarily on J’son’s waist, and J’son whimpered.

“Oh, shells, love!” S’ven panted, easing his grip with difficulty. “Don’t have to… you can wait, sweetheart, wait until you’re— scorch it!— until you’re ready…”

“You said… as slow as I want,” J’son panted. “I want… I  _ want _ .”

He emphasized his words by taking the rest of S’ven’s arousal into his body in one decisive move, causing S’ven’s eyes to roll back and drawing a breathless cry from J’son’s throat.

“Oh,  _ Faranth _ !” S’ven all but shouted. “So good, so  _ sharding  _ good love.”

“S’ven…” J’son gasped, his voice strained.

“Easy love,” S’ven said, forcing himself to regain some measure of control. “Give yourself a minute to get used to it. Breath. Relax. That’s it, love.”

Slowly, he felt J’son’s muscles ease around him. When the boy opened his eyes, S’ven could see that the pain had faded, but now he looked confused. S’ven smiled and slid his hands down to grasp the boy’s hips. Holding his blue, blue gaze, S’ven tightened his grip and thrust up gently. J’son’s eyes immediately went black with desire and he moaned, instinctively beginning to move with S’ven. A little bit of experimentation discovered the correct angle and the boy cried out, grabbing S’ven’s shoulders for support.

“Good, love?” S’ven breathed.

“Good,” J’son moaned. “So good. Feels…  _ shards _ , right there!”

“That’s it, love,” S’ven said, gasping as J’son found his rhythm, moving in such a way that S’ven brushed his sweet spot with every plunge of the boy’s hips. “Oh,  _ burn it _ , love, you feel so good. You’re so tight, sweetheart, so tight, and so sharding warm. Feel so perfect wrapped around me.”

J’son whimpered, his body tightening. S’ven groaned at the added pressure and his hips bucked, causing him to sink deeper into his lover. 

“Ah!” J’son yipped, his rhythm faltering.

“What’s wrong?” S’ven rasped, stilling. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” J’son said, shifting cautiously on S’ven’s lap and moaning as the movement caused S’ven to press even deeper into him. “Just… so deep! Can’t… ah!”

S’ven groaned, his hips thrusting helplessly, and J’son squealed.

“Shards!” S’ven swore. “You need to stop, love?”

“No!” J’son said, writhing against him desperately. “Need— need— oh, Faranth, just stop being a gentleman and  _ fuck  _ me!”

The desperate, ribald plea turned S’ven’s blood molten. With a growl, he surged up and seized J’son’s mouth in a searing kiss. Then, wrapping his arms around the boy’s slim body, he flipped them over, slipped his arms behind J’son’s knees, and proceeded to do as J’son had requested. The boy’s cries were so high and desperate that S’ven would have thought he was in agony if it weren’t for the fact that they were interspersed with sobs of “More,” and “Harder,” and “Yes, yes, yes.” 

Later, S’ven would add the frightening similarity between J’son’s cries of pain and cries of passion to his growing list of reasons to be desperately concerned about the green rider. For now, he simply obeyed, thrusting into J’son harder and faster until the boy couldn’t take it any more and came hard, screaming and convulsing helplessly around him. S’ven rode him through it, allowing his own release only after J’son had been reduced to exhausted whimpers.

With a final groan, he pulled out and collapsed beside J’son. The young green rider was still whimpering a little, but the moment that S’ven pulled him into a sweaty embrace, the whimpers turned to a hum of contentment.

“You,” S’ven panted, “Are sharding  _ dangerous _ .”

_ In so many ways _ , went unspoken, but S’ven was thinking it.

Later, they sat on the ledge in the bathing pool. J’son was between S’ven’s legs, his back against the bronze rider’s chest, his curly head leaning on his shoulder.

“Do you know any green riders who are weyrmated?” S’ven asked softly, rubbing his hand absently down his companion’s chest.

“A few,” J’son murmured sleepily. “Why?”

S’ven paused, considering how best to phrase what he had been considering since he’d made love to J’son this morning.

“I was thinking that, perhaps, you could talk to them,” he said.

“About what?” J’son asked, puzzled.

“About weyrmating and how it works,”  S’ven said carefully, “After this morning, I think it’s possible that in the long run, you might be happier staying with one mate than with taking a different lover every time Kith rises.”

J’son frowned and squirmed a little in S’ven’s arms.

“What do you mean, after this morning?” he asked uncomfortably. “Was— was it bad?”

“No!” S’ven said immediately. “No, rather the opposite, love. What I meant was that you are…” He paused, trying to think of how to put this. “Some people are like nursery songs: they’re simple, anybody can play them, you can pick them up in an hour. But you, love, you are one of those complicated pieces that only the masterharpers can play, the ones that take a lifetime to learn properly.”

J’son blinked dumbly up at him. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened, then closed again. Finally, he said faintly, 

“And you call  _ me  _ dangerous.”

S’ven stared. Whatever reaction he had expected, that hadn’t been it. Just when he thought he had J’son figured out, he would do something that made S’ven realize that he hadn’t even begun to understand him.

“Oh?” he settled for.

“A musical metaphor as a complement?” J’son said. “I was going to be a harper, you know.”

There was something in the green rider’s soft, wistful smile that made him look, for a moment, older than he was, a man grown rather than a boy on the cusp of manhood. S’ven swallowed. The boy was beautiful, but the man? He would be breathtaking.

“I meant it, sweetheart,” he said softly. “You deserve someone who can make you happy.”

J’son frowned, the wistful expression not quite leaving his face.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” S’ven replied. “But as I said, most people are fairly simple. It doesn’t take that long to figure out how to make them happy and almost anyone can do it. A lot of green riders are like that, they’re content with almost any rider whose dragon can fly their green because almost any rider can please them. Those who aren’t, though— well, when a green rider isn’t satisfied with just anyone, they usually seek out one rider who does suit them and when they find them, they, er, keep them.”

J’son was studying him with an expression that was part interest, part anxiety.

“I— I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I hadn’t really thought…”

“I know, love,” S’ven said. “You don’t have to do anything about it now, or ever, if you don’t want to. It’s just something to keep in mind. In case you find someone who, er, suits you.”

The look in J’son’s blue eyes was unreadable. He was silent for a long time, then he turned away, snuggling back into S’ven’s arms. When he spoke, his voice was light, but S’ven could hear traces of…  _ something  _ in it, something distant and grave and… maybe yearning?

“How do you know so much about green riders, anyways?” he said. “You ride a bronze, and you said you were craftbred, like me.

“I was… well, not properly weyrmated, we kept our own quarters and Math didn’t fly Xaphath all the time, but L’gan and I kept company fairly consistently for a turn or so,” S’ven replied. “It wasn’t that L’gan talked about it a lot, it was just that I spent a lot of time with him and the other green riders and I had a chance to see what it was like for them, and to see how different people adapted to it. I hadn’t really thought about it before, what it would be like to ride a green and be tied to her mating cycle. To be honest, I was only just starting to notice that there were other dragons in the world. I was young and having Math was still pretty overwhelming.”

He smirked, and J’son laughed.

“I know,” he said, seeming to shake off the strange mood he’d been in a moment before. “Kith is— oh, shards, she’s just— she’s perfect, you know? I don’t understand how anybody could be as close to their dragon as I am to her, because their dragons  _ aren’t _ her. I know, rationally, that other people’s dragons are perfect for  _ them _ , just like Kith is perfect for  _ me _ , but I can’t quite believe it.”

S’ven is so close to saying it, so close to just letting the words spill from his lips:  _ even though she’s a green? _ But he’s had to learn to think before he speaks since becoming a weyrleader. When he was younger, he thought that if something was true, it couldn’t do anyone any harm. Now he knows that, while a person shouldn’t tell lies, some truths are best left unsaid.

Instead, he says, “I should hope she’s perfect. She’s in your head every mark of every day, it would be fairly awkward if you couldn’t stand each other.”

And J’son laughed, tilting his head back so he could look up at S’ven with sparkling blue eyes.

After bathing, they got dressed and S’ven applied more healing balm to J’son’s tender flesh, they descended to the lower caverns to break their fast. Almost as soon as they entered the dining hall, they were confronted by Imogen, who ran a sharp eye over J’son before nodding her head and turning to S’ven, a small, approving smile on her face.

“Good morning, Weyrleader,” she said. “Lady Meia has asked that I tell you she and the Weyrleader would like to have a cup of  _ klah  _ with you before you go.”

“Of course, Headwoman,” S’ven said, inclining his head. Then, with a slightly plaintive expression, he added, “I hope that that doesn’t mean I have to wait until after breakfast for the first cup?”

Imogen laughed.

“It’s actually luncheon,” she said. “But this is a weyr, our kitchens never stop serving  _ klah _ . And I would not do that to you in any case. I know full well how unpleasant all you weyrleaders are without it.”

“I believe that R’den is free from the vice,” S’ven said with an exaggerated sigh.

“The Weyrleader of Telgar does not count,” Imogen said, her eyes going flinty. “Any man who does not like my sticky buns is an aberration of nature.”

S’ven threw back his head and laughed. R’den’s dislike of anything sweet, in addition to his disdain for  _ klah _ , was a source of never ending ridicule from his fellow weyrleaders.

“Now, go feed J’son before he expires from starvation,” Imogen said, shooing them towards a table.   
J’son had watched the exchange wide-eyed and, as soon as Imogen bustled away, he murmured, “Shouldn’t you be going to see the weyrleaders?”

“Imogen just said they wanted to see me before I leave,” S’ven said. “It’s merely courtesy. After all, I enjoyed the hospitality of Fort last night, however unusual the circumstances, it would be rude on both our parts not to speak before I return to Igen. But Meia and S’mon would never expect me to leave you to do the after-flight alone. They won’t look for me until after we’ve eaten and Kith and Math have fed as well.”

J’son let out a sound that was half gasp, half squeak, and S’ven realized that, until this moment, the lad had not fully realized that, this time, the post-flight congratulations of his fellow riders would be being offered to him and the Weyrleader of Igen. S’ven was fairly certain this was the juiciest bit of gossip Fort had had in turns, and the after-flight would be correspondingly lively.

“Easy, lad,” S’ven said. “You’ll do fine, and I’ll be right beside you.”

J’son gulped, but didn’t have time to say anything before the first wave of riders, alerted by the weyr’s lightning fast grapevine, entered the dining hall and descended upon them.

“That green of yours certainly knows how to cause a stir,” said a lean, gruff rider of middle years, eying J’son with fond exasperation before turning and nodding to S’ven. “Weyrleader. Congratulations to you both.”

S’ven nodded his thanks. J’son looked like he might be ill.

“Thank you, Wingleader,” he said faintly, alerting S’ven to the fact that these riders were probably J’son’s wingmates.

“Don’t listen to him, J’son,” said a short, redheaded girl with a cute, freckled face incongruously offset by threadscore scars across her left cheek. “It’s not Kith’s fault if a bronze finds her irresistible.”

“T’ia!” J’son squeaked with a sideways look at S’ven. 

T’ia turned to look at S’ven and clapped a hand to her mouth. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, Weyrleader!” she cried, blushing rosy red, although the mischief in her brown eyes remained undimmed. “Er, congratulations?”

“Thank you,” S’ven said with an easy smile, casually placing a reassuring hand on J’son’s back. “And there’s no need to apologize. Math was quite unabashed about his admiration for Kith, and I can see myself that she is a very special little lady.”

“Second prettiest green at Fort,” the redhead said with a cheeky smile. “She’d be the prettiest if she didn’t have the bad luck to be in the same weyr as my Kimmith.” 

“Hey!” said a stocky boy a few years older than J’son, presumably another green rider.

“Children, behave!” the wingleader said, shaking his head in despair. He looked at S’ven and shrugged helplessly. “Green riders,” he said. “Can’t make them behave, can’t leave them out as wherry-bait.”

“And thank Faranth for that,” S’ven said. “If my green riders started behaving, Igen would be as glum as a winter funeral in no time.”

“See, B’tram,” T’ia said, fluttering her eyelashes at her wingleader, “ _ Some  _ people know how to appreciate us.”

B’tram muttered about disrespect and hungry wherries while the rest of the wing offered their congratulations. One tall, lantern-jawed rider proffered S’ven his hand with a narrow look, squeezing his fingers hard and making the most clipped of congratulations before retreating to the back of the group, arms folded.

“Don’t mind Z’rey,” T’ia said. “He doesn’t like anyone who’s dragon flies Kith. It’s not personal.”

“We’d say he was jealous if his brown had ever risen for her, but Bajazeth hasn’t so much as twitched an ear at her since she first rose,” the stocky green rider put in.

S’ven cocked his head and studied Z’rey, reevaluating his curtness, then gave the man a slow nod. Z’rey raised one eyebrow and S’ven deliberately moved his arm to rest protectively around J’son’s shoulders. J’son looked up at him, surprised, and Z’rey blinked.

“Z’rey wanted to make sure I treated you right,” S’ven murmured for J’son’s ears only.

J’son blushed bright red and threw Z’rey a mortified, but happy smile.

Z’rey relaxed fractionally, nodding stiffly at S’ven in acknowledgement.

At length, J’son’s wing left, and Imogen brought them their food. They tried to gulp it down between the interruptions as the rest of the weyr came and went, trying to act as though they just happened to be there for lunch even though it was a good mark early.

Imogen, bless her, had a drudge stop by periodically to refill S’ven’s mug of  _ klah _ .

Trouble came when the riders of Kith’s rejected suitors appeared in  _ en masse _ . They were young and cocky and, while most of them were smirking with good humor, amused that their dragons had been passed over in favor of a weyrleader’s bronze, a few looked decidedly sullen. J’son hunched in on himself, looking unhappy, and S’ven’s eyes narrowed.

“J’son,” said a handsome blond, “Weyrleader. Congratulations. That was quite the flight.”

“I’ve seen queen flights that didn’t last a quarter as long,” said a rangy, dark-haired rider. “Palath is still sleeping it off.”

“Thank you,” S’ven said, since J’son didn’t seem to have any interest in engaging with the young men. “And I agree, Kith gave us quite the chase: Math hasn’t woken up yet either.”

“Well,” said a third rider, a short, snub-nosed fellow with a saucy tilt to his mouth, “He has the most excuse, since he actually  _ caught  _ the little minx. Palath’s just lazy. Congratulations, weyrleader.”

Although there was nothing but goodwill in the lad’s demeanor, S’ven felt his jaw clenching. ‘Minx’ could be a compliment under the right circumstances, but considering how uncomfortable J’son already was, it was inconsiderate in this situation. Moreover, the boy had neglected to congratulate J’son, which bordered on outright disrespect.

“Apparently Fort dragons aren’t good enough for her, if she needs to go swishing her tail at every visiting bronze,” sneered one of the riders S’ven had taken note of previously as being less than pleased. 

J’son inhaled sharply, pressing himself instinctively into S’ven’s side. The temperature around their table seemed to drop abruptly, and the other riders looked acutely uncomfortable. 

“If this is an example of Fort’s courtesy to its greens and their riders, it is no wonder that Kith chose to look elsewhere,” S’ven said icily, eying the rude rider with contempt.

He was good looking in a big, bluff way, with a strong jaw and vivid green eyes. However, all S’ven could think about was how broad he was and how big his hands were and how easily he could have hurt J’son if his dragon had won the flight.

“Shells, D’kon, d’you  _ want  _ Lady Meia to skin you alive?” muttered one of the other riders. “Remember just  _ which  _ bronze it is you’re talking about, for shards’ sake!”

“No offense, weyrleader,” said another of the sullen riders, a lean-faced young man with cool eyes. “Your bronze outflew our dragons, fair and square. It’s just, Kith’s a bit of a tease, and as you’ve no doubt found, J’son doesn’t exactly make up for the trouble it is to catch her.” 

S’ven thought before he reacted to the insult, which he was proud of. He considered the situation very carefully, weighing his position as weyrleader, the courtesy he owed to S’mon and Meia, and his duty to the boy whose bed he had just shared, and came to the conclusion that, in all three cases, his next course of action was a necessary one.  _ Then _ and only then did he give in to the red hot anger coursing through him. He rose to his feet, stepped around the table, and, very deliberately, planted his fist in the young man’s jaw hard enough to send the lad crashing to the floor. 

He felt Math surge abruptly awake and heard his bronze’s distant bellow of indignation, as well as Kith’s furious screech and the other rider’s dragon’s frightened cry.

The young riders stared at him, dumbfounded, and S’ven glared at them. Behind him, he could hear J’son’s ragged breathing. 

“That,” S’ven said, his voice unnaturally calm, “Is how an honorable man treats an insult to a green rider. I should not have to explain that to any of you. I should not have to remind you what we owe our green dragons and those who ride them. And I should I have to tell you what happens if a rider does not give them the the respect that they deserve. The dragons know who is worthy and who is not. Take care, or your dragons will never win another mating flight.”

There was a long silence, which was broken at length by applause from one of the other tables. Soon, more riders joined in, until the dining hall was echoing with clapping and the occasional cheer. The lad on the floor looked terrified, and the other rejected suitors looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.

“Scorch it, W’lis, get up!” hissed the blonde, looking around uncomfortably. “Let’s just go before you can get us in any more trouble.”

“I think that would be best,” said Imogen’s voice.

The Headwoman appeared beside their table as if by magic, and the young men blanched at seeing her. The applause died down as the other riders in the hall anticipated the second act of the morality play be enacted at their table.

“I expected better of Fort riders,” Imogen said cooly. “ You have disgraced your weyr and I am ashamed of you.”

“Faranth,” swore the short, snub-nosed rider, who was now looking the furthest thing from saucy. “You two really cooked the runner this time.”

“Oh, and I suppose you are completely innocent in all of this, K’land?” Imogen asked.

“Hey,” K’land said, holding up his hands, “I was just offering my congratulations. I’m not a sore loser, unlike some, and I certainly have better sense than to insult a weyrleader or his bronze in my own weyr’s dining hall.”

He cast disgusted looks at D’kon and W’lis.

“If you think that that is all you have to be ashamed of, you are even more of an idiot than you look.” Imogen snapped. “An insult to a weyrleader is grave, but it reflects solely on you. An insult to one of our green riders, given in front of a rider from another weyr… that brings shame on all of us. Now get out of my sight!”

The young riders scrambled to obey. S’ven, watched them go, then turned to find Imogen on the other side of the table comforting a pale, shaken J’son. S’ven winced. J’son murmured something to Imogen that S’ven couldn’t quite hear and Imogen made an impatient sound, pulling the young rider briskly into her arms. 

“Nonsense,” she said. “This was something the for Weyrleader S’ven to handle, not you.  Sometimes only the disapproval of one’s peers can make one acknowledge one’s own bad behavior. You are a green rider, they are not. Tell me, if T’ia and J’ton were teasing H’dran and it became too spiteful, would it help if H’dran protested?”

J’son smiled a little and shook his head.

“No,” Imogen agreed, “It wouldn’t. They would simply tease him more. However, if  _ you  _ told them they had gone too far, they would be more likely to listen.”

““I’m sorry, love” S’ven offered, coming round the table and crouching down beside J’son. “The insult was too grave, it had to be redressed. If I had let it pass, it could be construed that I approved, and that would make me unfit to be called a dragonrider.”

“I should say so!” Imogen sniffed. 

S’ven cast her a grateful smile, and thought for a brief moment that, if he didn’t love Pamina so much, he would steal Imogen for Igen.

J’son got his breathing under control and offered S’ven a shaky smile.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just… I’ve always hated fighting, but… I’m ashamed that you had to do it for me.”

“No, love,” S’ven said, reaching up and cupping his jaw. “Imogen is right, in this instance, it was not for you to do. And you do not ever have to fight if you do not want to. There is more than one way of righting a wrong. I do it with my hands because I am not cunning enough to do it any other way, but my wingsecond A’sander does it with words. He whispers the right things in the right ears and suddenly the malefactors cannot even get a decent cup of  _ klah _ .”

Imogen gave a low, soothing chuckle as she continued to rub J’son’s back with a firm, comforting hand. 

“I think that you will both feel a great deal better once your dragons are fed,” she said briskly. “Unless I miss my guess, they have woken up now, and they are almost certainly starving after their exertions yesterday.”

J’son took a deep breath and cocked his head, bespeaking Kith, and S’ven saw his shoulders ease. The bronze rider smiled and reached out to his own dragon, who was grumbling at having been woken, but was clearly proud of his rider for putting an arrogant young upstart in his place. 

“Come,” S’ven said, rising and holding out a hand to J’son. “Imogen is right. I can feel Math’s stomach rumbling from here.”

By the time they had joined their dragons and reached the feeding grounds, J’son had regained his composure and was able to roll his eyes with appropriate disgust as Math and Kith proceeded to engage in a gruesome draconic post-mating ritual involving the exchange of half-eaten wherries and licking one anothers’ muzzles clean after feeding. S’ven laughed, but was inwardly surprised. He had never seen his dragon behave in such a manner, not even with his queen, and S’ven did not know what to make of it.

When the dragons had finished their meal, it came time for S’ven and J’son to part ways. It was surprisingly difficult, considering the circumstances. J’son was subdued, seeming suddenly very young and uncertain as they made their farewells, and S’ven found himself irrationally worried about letting him return to his duties without S’ven and Math watching over him. Also, Math was strangely silent in his head, which made S’ven very uneasy.

He left J’son with a last, chaste kiss on the boy’s soft lips and made his way towards S’mon and Meia’s weyr with a profound sense of discomfort. 

The weyrleaders were arguing spiritedly over duty rosters when S’ven arrived at their quarters. They stopped as soon as S’ven rang the bell set by the weyr entrance, but S’ven had already heard enough to be profoundly grateful that his weyrwoman was much more even tempered than Lady Meia.

“S’ven,” S’mon said, rising to greet him. “Welcome.”

“S’mon,” S’ven said, nodding. “Meia.”

“Did you have a pleasant night, S’ven?” Meia asked with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

S’mon shook his head, but made no comment as he fetched S’ven a mug of  _ klah _ and gestured for him to sit down at the parchment-strewn table. S’ven did so, feeling some of his confusion and apprehension abate in the presence of the older and more experienced weyrleaders. 

“Yes, I did,” he replied to Meia’s question, deliberately ignoring the bawdier implications.

“How’s the lad?” S’mon asked, handing the steaming mug to S’ven and returning to his own seat.

“Well,” S’ven replied, meeting S’mon’s eye steadily. “It was a good flight and we both found the pairing satisfying in the end. You were right though, he was scared at first, and I don’t wonder at it. He’s sharding sensitive for a green rider, and he’s been treated poorly. Speaking of which, this morning… well, I am afraid I may have hit one of the other  riders who tried for Kith. Rather hard, actually. My profoundest apologies. I… please know that I was acting solely as Kith’s chosen, not as Igen’s weyrleader.”

“Oh S’ven,” Meia said, shaking her head and smiling indulgently.

S’mon chuckled.

“For Faranth’s sake, lad,” he said, “What’s with the formality? You’re among friends, and besides, you sound like a Holder’s spinster aunt.”

“Never underestimate spinster aunts,” S’ven rejoined lightly, sipping his  _ klah _ . “Mine had a tongue that could strip wherry hide.”

Meia and S’mon both laughed, but soon sobered.

“So,” S’mon said, “Some of the young bucks that Math outflew got out of line.”

S’ven would have liked to be angry. Clearly the other weyrleader had known that there was trouble among his younger riders. But S’ven had led Igen long enough to know that it was more complicated than that. He had also been around enough politics to realize that accusing another weyrleader of negligence was not the way to begin this conversation. He blew out a breath and slumped a little, suddenly weary.  

“I had not realized,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “How long it has been since I had been an everyday part of weyr life or had any but the most cursory interactions with most of my people. My Headwoman and my wingseconds try to keep me abreast of what is happening with all my people, but we’ve had a lot on our minds and… I am suddenly worried that I have not been paying enough attention to my youngest riders.”

Meia smirked at S’ven’s attempt at diplomacy and S’mon raised an eyebrow.

“They’re a bit rough around the edges,” he said. “They were born into fighting thread, like all of us, but they didn’t have time to get sick of it. They’re all still trying to find some way of proving themselves, and with the Pass over, there’s nothing to prove except that their dragons can win a mating flight.”

“The way those lads were acting, they’ll spoil their dragons’ chances before they ever get off the ground,” S’ven snapped before he could stop himself. 

Lady Meia sat up, looking concerned.

“Surely it can’t be as bad as that?” she said.

S’ven took a breath, controlling himself with an effort.

“I don’t believe it is entirely their fault,” he said, ruthlessly suppressing the inner voice that said that it bloody well  _ was  _ their fault. Just because they were ignorant didn’t mean they had to be cruel and boorish. “As S’mon says, they Impressed at a time when all our focus was on finishing out the Pass. I assumed, as, I’m sure, we all did, that my weyrlings were still receiving instruction on what it means to be a dragonrider beyond the necessity of fighting, but now I am not so certain. Speaking to J’son, it became clear that there are many things he simply does not know. The functions and prerogatives of greens within the weyr is one of them, and I can only think that his weyrling class is likewise… under informed.”

Meia let out a quiet oath and S’mon looked grave.

“We lost two weyrlingmasters back to back at the end of the Pass,” Meia said. “After T’eus died, we didn’t manage a replacement for a turn or so. That would have been right around the time J’son’s weyrling class was training.”

“Yes, J’son told me about that,” S’ven said. “I’m sure it didn’t help. But I believe that is only part of the problem, and if we simply dismiss it as bad Fort’s ill luck, we may all suffer for it. I have been thinking of my own weyr, and I know that I asked my weyrlingmaster to push more than one weyrling class through when my wings were flying light. Who knows what parts of their education were left out in favor of getting them in the air as quickly as possible? And beyond that… I don’t have to tell you how tired we all were at the end. We ate and we slept and we fought thread. If some of my weyrlings believe that fighting thread is all there is to being a dragonrider, I’m not sure I would wonder at it.”

“You make your point well,” S’mon said, his face drawn with the memory of those last, desperate turns. “When Sidroth last rose, only four bronzes had the energy to rise with her, including Chadrath. It was nighttime and we had just flown three split falls in a row; most people didn’t even wake up. Our senior queen mated— one of the most sharding important events in the weyr— and the weyr didn’t even know about it until the next morning.”

The weyrleaders looked at each other bleakly, sharing a feeling of near-helplessness at this new problem that they were only just beginning to perceive and could not yet properly measure.

“Stop that,” Meia said sharply, reading their expressions. “We’ll fix this. We’ll talk to the rest of the weyrleaders and we’ll figure out the best way to fill the gaps in our younger riders education. We’ll work on ways to reinforce weyr tradition and weyr knowledge so it’s easy for new riders to understand it. The Pass is over, we have all the time and energy we need to figure this out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this story is aware that female green riders do not shorten their names in canon. This has always bothered the author tremendously. And, since this is fanfiction, it seemed like a perfect opportunity to fix the problem.


End file.
